


Darkness Is a Harsh Term

by EmitTime



Category: Backstrom (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Repressed, Even though this ended up being more about Everett, Gen, Gen Work, I mean I tried but you've seen Backstrom, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Introspection, Okay Ending, Valentine is King of Fabulous even when he's on the verge of crying, i want to hug him, somewhat happy ending, too many tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmitTime/pseuds/EmitTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Up until this moment in the kitchen, Backstrom has never seen Val so close to crying. </i><br/> </p><p>- Set during Episode 5, "The Bogeyman". Backstrom could never have solved the case without Valentine's help, but that ability to help came at a high price. Backstrom and Valentine genfic, Backstrom introspective. (Contains major spoilers for Episode 5.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Is a Harsh Term

**Author's Note:**

> Quotations in italics are dialogue from Episode 5. Quotations in regular type are dialogue I've added.

**.x.x.x.**

* * *

 

He's not prepared for this.

 

He wasn't prepared for any of it, really - not this online predator returning, not a bogus ransom note, not the FBI sticking their noses into his case, and definitely not Valentine asking about his childhood encounter with the Bogeyman.

 

And later, when he pushes back, when he twists the conversation around as he always does - it's his job, it's how he _survives,_ how he _wins_ \- he thinks he is prepared, but he is not.

 

Because never before has he seen, nor has he ever imagined, the haunted look that clouds over Valentine's eyes, growing red-rimmed beneath that ridiculous amount of kohl and mascara.

 

Valentine's voice softens with quiet, troubled conviction, wavering somewhat despite his obvious attempts to maintain his typical, unflappable demeanor. With both hands he grips the edge of the counter behind him for support, a subtle move, something Backstrom himself might have done in that situation.

 

Only he's never been in this situation, and all he can do is stand there, transfixed and attentive as he listens to Valentine's words. He watches the way the younger man shifts, pressing back against the counter, swallowing thickly, hunching his shoulders inward slightly.

 

Valentine has always been short by Backstrom's standards, but this is the first time he's ever seen him look _small_.

 

Something twists in Backstrom's gut. He doesn't think it's because of his liver this time, either.

 

“ _Believe me when I say,”_ Valentine's jaw trembles, his breaths coming quicker and more labored with every fragmented sentence that leaves his mouth. _“I've never been looked at with so much love...”_ He chokes the words out with effort, yanking down one side of his t-shirt collar. _“...even when he marked me.”_

 

Up until this moment in the kitchen, Backstrom has never seen Val so close to crying.

 

“ _He tattooed you?”_ He asks.

 

“ _No, he branded me with his cigarette. Over and over.”_ Valentine corrects, still fighting to keep his voice steady. “ _I got tattoos to - cover the scars, so I wouldn't have to remember him every day for the rest of my life.”_

 

Backstrom nods, pursing his lips. _“But you got away.”_ He says this to prod Valentine into continuing, but also because he feels like it needs to be said, like he needs to say it and Valentine needs to hear it. The Bogeyman doesn't have him anymore.

 

But he does have Talia Lennox, and Lacy Siddon as well, if either of them are still alive.

 

“ _All in all, he wasn't so bad, you know.”_ Valentine smiles. The expression is too twisted, wounded and lost to reassure either of them if that is what he's trying to do. _“There are worse boogeymen.”_

 

He can't find any more words to say, once Valentine is finished. He isn't in the habit of wasting breath on empty phonetics, and the gears in his mind are already shifting over to a new lead.

 

Tattoos on victims.

 

His phone is out before he turns away from Valentine, and his attention slides from that weary face soon after.

 

Backstrom doesn't notice Valentine turn around, doesn't see him press his lips together until they ache between his gums as he stares at nothing, willing phantom adrenaline and freshly brimming tears away.

 

Backstrom doesn't see, because he has a live Bogeyman to catch and he'll be damned if he lets the bastard escape what's coming to him a second time.

 

* * *

 

**.x.x.x.**

 

He does remember, though.

 

He remembers what Valentine had said when they cornered that extortionist girl Amber together. There had been a moment or two when Valentine had looked down at at her sobbing, hunched figure and Backstrom could tell he hadn't seen her as just another suspect, or as an accomplice to murder.

 

Backstrom hadn't possessed the time or need to piece together that mystery then, but he kows now what he'd seen in Valentine's eyes. It had been something like grim understanding, coupled with the knowledge of a far darker world than that girl has yet to experience.

 

 _"You're crying because you know there is no better world than this. This is all we get.”_ He'd looked up to lock eyes with Backstrom then, and said quietly, almost deceptively nonplussed, “ _And she is heartbroken."_

 

Valentine had said it like he was translating a foreign language for him, as if he was explaining a secret code Backstrom couldn't possibly understand, yet Valentine was still slightly disappointed that he hadn't at least tried.

 

And Backstrom thinks about himself, which is a dangerous thing to do even for a moment. He wonders if he can claim with any certainty that he's ever been heartbroken, even after Amy left. Maybe his heart has been numb all his life, even before the drinking started.

 

No matter. It probably helps in his line of work anyway, no matter what spiritual spew Niedermayer and Almond like to chuck up.

 

A niggling feeling sweeps over the back of his neck, like a warning that he might regret that last thought later, but he pushes it away with a silent, sardonic scoff.

* * *

 

**x.x.x.**

 

“ _If she dies, it's on you.”_

 

“ _Maybe so.”_ He retorts, rising out of his chair to growl at the son of a bitch in his face. He sees red and there is fury in his veins and he _feels_ , he feels so angry.

 

“ _Like you said... I'm me. Worse than you.”_ He shakes his head, disgust curling his lips and churning bile in his gut. _“I've never loved anybody. I never will. All the world is filled with walking corpses who don't even know they're dead. Well,”_ he snarled, _“What's one more little girl?”_

 

Throwing the pen down atop the photo of Wesley's property, he storms out of the interrogation room and into his office.

 

He doesn't look at his team, and slams the door behind him so he doesn't have to hear them.

 

He feels hopeless and exposed, on edge, like his own Bogeyman is still out there.

 

No, not out there. Still _with_ him.

 

“I'm me.” He repeats, the words bitter and raspy as they grate tortuously from his throat like gravel being scraped along a rusty tube.

* * *

 

**.x.x.x.**

 

When he peers down into that hole and sees those two motionless girls, long-lost Lacy clutching a swaddled, silent baby to her chest, he feels no satisfaction at having been right.

 

He feels sick. The world sways around him, and he has to step back, has to tear his eyes away and turn his back on the scene.

 

Not prepared. He's not prepared for this, now that it's happening, because catching the Bogeyman is only one part of the victory. If those girls and that baby are dead...

 

 _"Lieutenant!”_ Almond's deep, distinctive voice yells out, resonating through the murky, shadowy bog of his thoughts and pulling him out before he drowns in his own poison. _“They're alive!"_

 

When his legs give out on him after hearing that, he doesn't fight it. He can't. His vision is blurring and he desperately tries to steady himself, to remain upright because suddenly all he wants to do is collapse.

 

There's a tight feeling in his chest, building up and constricting at his throat. His eyes burn and he feels his face contort, stretching into a breathless expression of pure emotions – there is relief, yes, but so much torment still remains. He should have solved this case the first time. He should have burned the vampire, should have banished the bogeyman seven years ago.

 

As quickly as he can, he hides his face, bringing his arms up with some disjointed semblance of coordination because now he is _weeping_.

 

At some point Valentine's face flashes through his mind, and it's all just too much, everything.

 

Everything he's seen, everything he knows, every time he puts himself in someone's shoes to feel what they are feeling, it all wears on him.

 

A shuddering sob escapes him because he has caught one bogeyman, and those girls are alive, but this world that they all share is still heartbreaking.

 

If he's in this much pain without having ever loved anyone, he doesn't think he should ever try.

* * *

 

**.x.x.x.**

 

“ _We all know that evil can cloak itself in beauty. But good can also confuse us in deportment and appearance.”_

* * *

 

**.x.x.x.**

 

  
“Detective Almond thanked God for you today.”

 

“You went to church?” Backstrom snorts, still laying in his beaten-up recliner with an empty beer bottle for company when Valentine stalks into the room. He's been drifting in and out of sleep for a while now, too tired to rest properly but also too drained to move. He's probably hung-over at this point, too. He usually is.

 

“Your entire team was there. I was sort of filling in for you.” Valentine retorts breezily, hooking two fingers around the temple of his dark shades and pulling them off to reveal his usual striking eye makeup. “Besides, you held hands and stood in a prayer circle.” When Backstrom opens his mouth to protest, Valentine raises his hand, making a cutting motion. “Don't lie, I saw you on TV.”

 

“That was for work.” Backstrom lifts one arm to rest over his head, crossing his ankles. “It only helped because I had extra time to think while the others were bowing their heads.”

 

Shrugging, Valentine takes a seat beside him and reaches for the remote control, flipping the television onto Antiques Roadshow, of all ironic things. “Well, whatever happened, I'm glad you solved this case.”

 

There is a pause, and then Backstrom gets that feeling – not the one where he's going to regret something, but the one where something needs to be said. “Thanks for your help.” He glances down, remembering what it was like to watch a teenage girl break down in that interrogation room over a fantasy world created by a sociopath, and how his blood boiled when he faced down Wesley in that same dim room. “It made a huge difference.”

 

When he looks up, Valentine is smiling at him. There's nothing twisted or hurt about it this time, only a bittersweet sort of solace and satisfaction. It's genuine. It looks happy enough.

 

Backstrom doesn't see too many of those expressions in his line of work.

 

“Niedermayer told me about that code – good is good but bad is better. Tacky, honestly.”

 

Unfortunately, Backstrom is too tired to capitalize on the information that _Valentine_ , the fabulous fence himself, has gone to _church_ with _Niedermayer,_ the upstanding, thoroughly boring guy.

 

Shaking his head, Valentine leans back with all the contentment of a comfortable cat after a hunt. “But maybe a little good and a little bad is the best.”

 

And for some odd reason, in this moment, Backstrom isn't as disgruntled for being...well, himself.

 

He harrumphs in agreement, shuts his eyes, and feels his lips attempting the foreign action of smiling back.

* * *

 

**.x.x.x.**

_ End _

**.x.x.x.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing for this fandom, so apologies if this was garbage. I just find both Backstrom and Valentine to be fascinating characters, and I couldn't help but be inspired for this odd little piece. I hope I didn't get their characterization too off, I know that normally they're both fairly unflappable on the show, but I feel like Episode 5 was re-traumatizing for both of them, and their behavior there was what I drew from.
> 
> Title taken from "Roll Away Your Stone" by Mumford and Sons.


End file.
